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Updated: June 27, 2025
Sir Charles Porter was again made Lord Chancellor of Ireland in 1690, and in this same year he acted as one of the Lords Justices. This note of Lord Braybrooke's is retained and added to, but the reference may after all be to another Charles Porter.
"It was put among mine," he said in apology, "and as the handwriting was perfectly familiar to me, I began to open it." "Familiar?" said Uniacke, taking the letter. "Yes. It bears an exact resemblance to Doctor Braybrooke's writing." "Oh!" said Uniacke, laying the letter aside rather hastily. They sat down on either side of the table.
"I'm going to have a good sweat in the Harrow Road." Braybrooke was disgusted. It was not that he really minded the word used to indicate the process which obtains in a Turkish Bath. No; it was Garstin's blatant way of speaking it that offended his susceptibilities. The man was perpetually defying the decencies and delicacies which were as perfume in Braybrooke's nostrils.
She felt sure that when he had made it Braybrooke had told her a lie. Craven had amply proved to her his indifference towards Miss Van Tuyn. Braybrooke's lie surely indicated a desire to detach his old friend's attention from the young man he had introduced into her life, and must mean that he was a little afraid of her influence.
But the subsequent remark about Beryl Van Tuyn had added fuel to the fire, and the sharp jealousy of sensitive youth mingled with the feeling of injury. Craven had been hurt by the elderly woman. Was he now to be hurt by the girl? Braybrooke's news had made him feel really angry. Yet he knew he had no right to be angry.
Without being vulgarly curious, he somehow usually got to know almost everything. Beryl Van Tuyn would be just the wife for young Craven when she had settled down. She was too independent, too original, too daring, and far too conventional for Braybrooke's way of thinking. But he believed her to be really quite all right.
For she had known Italy, too, as well as she had know Paris, and had memories connected with Italy. And the guitars had spoken to her of days and nights which her will told her not to think of any more. And now? Was Fate going to leave her alone? Or was she once more going to be attacked? Something within her, no doubt woman's instinct, scented danger. Braybrooke's visit had disturbed her.
"So unlike the man who expressed a wish to be buried in Paris." Craven remembered at that moment Braybrooke's remark in the club that Lady Sellingworth's jewelry were stolen in Paris at the Gare du Nord ten years ago. Did Miss Van Tuyn know about that? He wondered as he murmured something non-committal.
"I have been very happy in Paris." "And yet you have deserted it for years and years! You are an enigma. Isn't she, Mr. Braybrooke?" Before Braybrooke had time to reply to this direct question an interruption occurred. Two ladies, coming in to dinner accompanied by two young men, paused by Braybrooke's table, and someone said in a clear, hard voice: "What a dinky little party!
That thought, too, might possibly have come out of one of those little glasses, the one on the left. But nevertheless it would stick in Braybrooke's mind long after the Martinis were forgotten. And what if it did? Craven said that to himself, but he felt far less defiant than sensitively uncomfortable. He was surprised by himself. Evidently he had not known his own feelings.
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